


Jesus Christ, if I have to tell an android about the birds and the bees

by hidama



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 07:34:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14929940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidama/pseuds/hidama
Summary: Connor doesn't understand. Why would he pick him? He's the least compatible model. But the android never gives up—he keeps writing Connor love letters.(The cute slow-burn fic you've been waiting for, with Connor suddenly realizing what it means to fall in love and be worthy of love.)





	1. The case of the mysterious love letters

“Thanks for letting me come over, Hank.”

Hank busied himself with his record collection, one hand occupied holding a neat scotch. “No big deal. Anyway, what was this problem you’re having?”

“Someone has been leaving me a series of love letters—”

Hank coughed, spewing the scotch over his shelving. “For fuck’s sake that’s the third best album I have!”

Connor went to the kitchen in search of a towel. “As I was saying, someone—evidence points to an android— has been leaving me a series of love letters and I have been unable to identify who the author is.”

Hank took the towel from Connor, looked him over once, and laughed and turned to wipe off his records. “Holy shit, you have a secret admirer.” He shook his head. “So why does the world’s foremost android detective need my help?”

“I’m having difficulty figuring out the motive of the suspect.”

Hank leaned against the shelving unit, releasing a guffaw so loud that it startled Sumo from his sleep. “No shit, Sherlock! Haven’t you heard of the birds and bees? Hah! Not understand the motive.”

Connor just stood there, face impassive. Hank paled and reached for the decanter. “You do know about the birds and the bees, right?” He poured himself a new drink. “Jesus Christ, if I have to tell an android about the birds and the bees….”

“I know the mechanics of sexual intercourse and themes of romantic relationships,” Connor interrupted. “But what I don’t understand is why this android would use these words to communicate to me.”

Hank squinted his eyes, looking sharply at his friend, and then tossed his head back and drained his glass, downing nearly two fingers of scotch. He sighed roughly and placed the glass on a nearby shelf.

“Listen, son, if I’m hearing you right, you’re saying you don’t understand why they’d pick you?”

Connor nodded, frowning slightly. “That the issue, Hank. I don’t understand the motive. I have not played a significant role in any android's life, and most androids that seek companionship have been AX400s or WR400s— and I’m not really the nurturing or physical pleasure type.”

He paused and walked over to Sumo, kneeled, and smoothed his hand along the big dog’s back as he continued. “I don’t understand their motive. Why would they select me for companionship? What would I have to offer them?”

Sumo interrupted the silence with a happy groan as Connor moved to scratch under his chin.

Hank gave Connor a long look and then sat down in on his sofa with a sigh. “Look, let’s say you only had the evidence. Forget the motive. With just the evidence, who do you think it is?”

Connor looked away from Hank and scratched behind Sumo’s ears, the big dog panting happily at the attention. “It’s someone who mimics Keats style and has an eye for art and culture. There’s really only one android who—”

Hank held up his hand. “Ah-ah! Don’t tell me who it is. Your job is to be a detective and interview the suspect. Go talk to your love letter suspect and ask them what they see in you.”

Connor looked resigned. “I guess that’s the only thing I can do, right?” He gave Sumo a parting pat on the head and made towards the door. “Thank you, Hank.”

Hank opened the door for him. “No problem. And Connor?” Hank felt his heart squeeze when he saw the small signs of confusion and anxiety on his friend’s face. “You’re a really good person—android—whatever. Anyone would be lucky for you to say yes to them.”

When Connor visibly relaxed and gave him an easy smile as he waved goodbye, Hank thought he might tear up. His little android all grown up with his first android crush. He shut the door and looked at Sumo.

“Oh fuck I need a drink.”


	2. Confronting Markus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor chooses to confront the author of the love letters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the prequel to this, Connor’s been told to talk to the letter suspect. The majority of you voted that he should:
> 
> ⭕️ CONFRONT

* * *

Connor walked down Woodward Ave, his solitary path lit by only by streetlamps and the glow of the city. He had decided to take Hanks’ advice and confront his secret admirer with the questions that had been building up inside him.

His destination was just up ahead—the Detroit Institute of Arts. It was where Markus went to think in the early hours of the morning, before sunrise and the bustle of the city. It had become the artist’s favorite spot after the winter’s snow melted and the warmth of spring had the city parks in bloom.

He had been here once before; on an unusually warm night in April, Markus had dragged him here, talking about “daily constitutionals” and how the English poets walked the countryside for inspiration.

Come to think of it, he and Markus often found themselves in each others’ company in the late night and very early morning. They spent the daylight hours apart, each working on their own piece of the arduous task of android and human unification. Then in the evenings they often found themselves separately addressing the issues of the day from their people, Markus handling community decisions and him investigating the complaints amongst fellow androids, or of androids facing discrimination in their lives outside the communities.

Then, nearing midnight, a hush would settle over the Android District, as androids turned inward to focus on their families and loved ones, or to continue their old habits of adhering to the circadian rhythm of their former lives, resting and repairing for a few hours before sunrise.

It would be in these few hours between the deepest night and sunrise that Markus would find him, or that his wandering feet would find Markus. They would spend the first hour sharing all of the important news of the day that passed and the one yet to come. After some time, the tranquility of the early morning hours lent them a kind of levity, and they’d find themselves forgetting the weight on their shoulders. Some days they’d venture out amongst the sleeping city. Some days he would read a classic novel aloud while Markus closed his eyes. Some days he would just sit and watch Markus paint.

He was now close enough to the museum he could hear the soft sounds of its fountain stairs and see the streetlight reflected off the water and stone. He looked around for Markus’ profile and spotted him laying on the grass on the far side of the entrance.

“It’s going to be a beautiful spring morning,” commented Markus as he approached. He stepped off the paved path onto the grassy park and stopped at Markus’ feet.

“You’ve been writing me love letters.” There, he had finally said it. Albeit a bit more accusatory than it probably warranted.

Markus patted the ground next to him. “Yes, I have.”

He barely held back a long-suffering sigh—something he picked up from Hank—before settling on the ground, hands tucked behind his head as he stared up at the night sky.

Markus declared nothing more, so Connor steeled himself to ask the questions on his mind.

“You’ve been writing me love letters. But your outward interactions towards me haven’t changed, and the first letter you sent me was 78 days ago.”

“Why would I change our interactions? Just because I have feelings for you doesn’t mean that you also have them for me,” Markus stated serenely, still gazing at the night sky.

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of it that way. He assumed there was something duplicitous going on, that Markus was wanting to hide, or was ashamed of, his feelings for him. He had never considered that Markus was waiting for him to change his own interactions. To reciprocate. “But why not sign the letters?”

Markus laughed quietly. “Did I really need to sign them for you to know who it was?”

“Fair point,” he conceded. “Then why keep writing letters? And why not mention them?”

“Because I knew you’d reach out to me when you were ready,” Markus pointed out.

He turned his head to look at Markus’ profile. “But why more than one?”

Markus turned and met his gaze. “Because one wasn’t enough. And then, two wasn’t enough. And soon ten wasn’t enough.” Markus looked back up at the sky. “One day when you’re in love, you’ll understand.”

He tried to stifle his frown. So Markus didn’t think he reciprocated his feelings. But he still kept writing the letters. “Did you think I’d one day be in love?”

Markus smiled up at the stars. “That is the hope, Connor.”

He let a few moments of silence settle between them while he thought through his friend’s answers.

“Anything else I can help clarify?” Markus added.

“Why me?” burst from his lips. “I’m one of the least emotionally or physically compatible models, and it took me 78  _days_  and a pep talk from Hank to even talk to you, and there are so many people who desire your companionship and would be logical fits—”

“—Connor,” Markus warned, rising up to rest on his elbows and gaze at the younger android. “What I feel isn’t dictated by logic. If it was, I would have never pursued you, having been scared away by low chance that I’d be noticed by you, one of the most eligible bachelors in the District, perhaps even in the entire city.”

“No no, not eligible.  _In_ eligible,” he emphasized, embarrassed, and sat up, elbows resting on his knees. “I am… too strange... to be anyone’s eligible bachelor.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘unique’,” joked Markus. “Or ‘that cute android detective’ or ‘CyberLife Savior’ or ‘that hot one with a gun’.”

“This is all very embarrassing, please stop,” he pleaded and dropped his forehead to rest on his knee. He heard Markus laugh softly again.

“OK, I’ll relent. But let me give you a real answer to your question.”

Connor looked up and saw the now-white android arm held out to him. He hesitated only a second before grasping his hand.

He saw flashes of sketches of his face and paintings of bright colors reflecting these warm, intense emotions spilling out of him. He saw his face as he read aloud, complained about cases, and smiled at pets. He felt the raw desire as he saw himself take down threats. He experienced them all as if they were almost his own memories.

“Oh,” he said softly, almost in shock. And in the next second he started to recognize patterns, and with a panic pushed his memories out to Markus, hoping he’d understand.

He pushed out his warm memory of Markus with his eyes closed, smiling as Connor read his favorite part of the novel. He pushed out his adoring memory of seeing Markus lost in thought. He pushed out his peaceful memory of them leaning against one another, laughing stress away late at night on a rooftop. He pushed out his memory of chilling fear as he barely managed to protect Markus from an assassination attempt. He pushed out his memory of wonderment at being led by the hand at 2am through the city of Detroit.

The surprised look on Markus’ face soon grew into a look of sheer joy and disbelief. “Connor! You—”

“—I’m sorry,” he babbled. “I’m not proficient in understanding my emotions and I didn’t really understand why you would be interested in me so I didn’t want to think about what I felt and—”

“Shut up,” Markus whispered, and the next thing Connor processed was that he was pushed back to the cool earth, Markus’ left hand cradling his head and his lips pressed firmly against his.


End file.
